Same five.
Strangers reset to zero every time. The same five compound: week three picks up exactly where week two left the joke. Compounding is the only force strong enough to beat 200 hours.
Same table.
A booked table is a promise with an address. Nobody has to host, nobody has to choose, nobody can quietly suggest “somewhere central?” until the plan dissolves.
Same night.
A weekly slot defends itself. Thursday stops being negotiable the way the gym stops being negotiable — it's simply what Thursday is for.
No profiles.
You can't swipe your way into 200 hours. We match on neighbourhood, rhythm and vibe, once, then get out of the way. The table does the rest.
Six weeks, then it's yours.
We hold the seat for six weeks — past the polite stage, past the first inside joke, into the turn. After that, the table belongs to the five of you. Most crews keep it.
ARGUED OVER DINNER · TYPESET THE MORNING AFTER